Rehab, day 15

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Audrey woke up, disoriented. It felt like she had just fallen asleep when a sharp, insistent noise dragged her out of her dreams. She blinked, trying to shake off the heaviness that glued her eyelids shut. Her first thought was that it was some alarm clock, pulling her out of a deep REM phase.

She turned over, squinting at the glowing numbers: 06:30. Her alarm was set for 6:00. Why hadn't it gone off? She frowned, rubbing her eyes. She seemed to be late already. It didn't make sense. Had she forgotten to set it last night?

The noise continued, persistent and unrelenting. That's when she realized it wasn't her alarm at all. It was her phone, buzzing next to her pillow. She reached for it, confusion giving way to concern as she saw Jack's number on the display.

She quickly picked up. "Hello?" she said, her voice edged with worry, adrenaline kicking in.

"Hey. You're up," came Jack's familiar voice.

"Now I am," she replied, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

"Good."

Still groggy and slightly confused, she tried to make sense of his call. "What's up, Jack? Why do you call?"

"To make sure you wake up in time," he said simply.

A warm feeling spread through her chest, the kind that makes everything seem a little brighter. She couldn't quite remember how their call had ended last night, but the fact that he had called now, to make sure she didn't oversleep, felt like one of the kindest things anyone had done for her in a long time. She glanced at her clock again. "What time is it in L.A.?" she asked, still trying to get her bearings.

Jack checked his watch. He'd set his alarm after remembering how she'd mentioned still needing to set hers and take a shower. She had fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation, and he'd been worried she might oversleep without her alarm clock. It had only been three hours since she'd drifted off. "It's 03:30," he said.

Audrey blinked. It was the middle of the night—well, for him at least. "How long were we talking?" she yawned, realizing just how much time they must have spent on the phone.

"Until about three hours ago," Jack said with a smile she could almost hear in his voice. "You fell asleep in the middle of it."

"What? Really?" she asked, surprised and a little embarrassed.

"Yeah. But I get it. The differences between a 500cc Yamaha and a 700cc Honda can be pretty dull," he teased.

She thought back. Right, something about motorcycles. He'd been telling her about the races he participated in, but she must have tuned out when he got into the technical details. These weren't the things she had focused on. "Sorry for falling asleep," she said.

Jack wasn't upset in the slightest. In fact, it had been oddly comforting to realize she had drifted off. The moment he noticed the usual "mhms" had stopped, he knew she was out. And instead of hanging up right away, he'd stayed on the line a little longer, listening to her soft breathing and the occasional, barely-there snore. She was more than two thousand miles away, but for those moments, it felt like she was right there beside him. It was intimate in a way he hadn't expected, and he hadn't wanted it to end.

But he caught himself. Just like he had in the night, he forced his eyes open now, pushing away the thoughts. Don't go there, he reminded himself. It was too dangerous to think like that. Audrey was married, across the country, and out of reach. Dreaming about her, about a life that would never be his, would only lead to more pain. She wasn't his. She could never be his. He didn't belong in her world.

"Thanks, Jack," Audrey said softly, breaking the silence. "For waking me up."

"Not a big deal," he mumbled, a yawn escaping. "I'm going back to sleep."

"Okay. Thanks. Bye," she said, ending the call.

Audrey stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling. By all rights, she should have been exhausted. Three hours of sleep wasn't nearly enough, but she felt wide awake now, energy coursing through her veins. It was just a phone call, she told herself, but it wasn't. It meant more than that. Someone on the other side of the country had set an alarm at 03:30 just to make sure she wouldn't be late for work. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

For the first time in a long time, she felt genuinely cared for.

Audrey ordered a double espresso macchiato, the strongest coffee she could find on the menu. It was her go-to for late nights, all-nighters—or nights spent awake for different reasons. Last night certainly qualified, even though it involved no sex, just hours of conversation that left her feeling more connected to Jack than she'd ever thought possible.

The first meeting of the day was behind her, and she was grateful that the lingering adrenaline had gotten her through it. But now, as it began to fade, she needed a boost. It was only 10 a.m., but she felt like she'd already lived through an entire day. She glanced at her watch—7 a.m. in Los Angeles. Jack was probably still asleep. She discreetly checked her phone. No messages. He must still be out. No boost of adrenaline there. So she turned to coffee.

Lost in thought, she jumped when a voice called her name from behind. Turning, she saw Dr. Cassandra Stevenson, the psychiatrist from the veterans' liaison department she had spoken to yesterday. It felt like a lifetime ago, though it hadn't even been 24 hours. So much had happened since then—she had unraveled Jack's past, piece by piece, over the course of a single night. It felt like a whole life had happened in between, somehow.

"Cassandra," she stammered, quickly sliding her secure phone back into her purse.

"You look tired, Audrey," Cassandra remarked, a hint of concern in her voice as she ordered a coffee for herself. They stood side by side, waiting for their drinks.

Audrey knew she couldn't just walk away. That would be rude.

"How's your DIY project going?" Cassandra asked casually, as if discussing a hobby.

"My DIY?" Audrey echoed, unsure what she meant.

"Yeah, that guy with PTSD you were asking about. You didn't seem like you were going to take my advice and leave it alone."

Audrey felt a pang of guilt. She hadn't wanted to ignore Cassandra's advice, but she couldn't just let it go. Jack needed someone, and she couldn't turn her back on him.

"Have you spoken to him?"

Audrey considered lying but knew Cassandra would see right through it. And, in truth, part of her felt proud of the progress they had made. Why not let her know? "I have."

"How did it go?"

"We talked quite a while."

Cassandra laughed, noting the dark circles under Audrey's eyes that even makeup couldn't hide. "I can see that." She took her coffee, paid, and took a sip. "So, I guess you got him to open up, starting with childhood memories? Just like every cliché shrink advises?"

Audrey felt a little defensive but decided to play along. Cassandra was a professional, and maybe she could offer insights that would help. "Yes."

"Good memories?"

"Some yes, some no," Audrey admitted cautiously.

"So, mostly no," Cassandra deduced, taking a deep breath. "Let me guess: domestic violence, early abuse?"

Audrey was taken aback. It was as if Cassandra had peered straight into Jack's life. "How would you know?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. Was there something she had said? Had Cassandra figured out she was talking about the "heroin addict corrdilla virus guy" (that's how Janice had named him) who had been the talk of the Pentagon just a month ago? Audrey felt caught. It wasn't possible that word had gotten around. She had been so cautious – never opened his file, never left any traces, nobody knew about the secure line phone that was missing, and they wouldn't know where it was anyway. She hadn't even been seen with him, the day a month ago, when he had been here in Washington for the debrief.

"I'm just guessing." They moved to a table by the window and sat down. "You mentioned he's an army veteran. If he's younger than sixty, he wasn't drafted, so something must have pushed him to enlist. It's not uncommon for people with difficult pasts to see the military as an escape—a way out of something even worse." She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. "Is that the case with him?"

Audrey felt a cold shock run through her. "I don't know. I didn't ask him why he enlisted." She made a mental note to bring it up next time they spoke.

"Did you ask him to talk about his childhood?" Cassandra pressed.

"Yes," Audrey replied, hesitantly. "That's what the book suggested."

Cassandra's expression turned sharp, a mix of frustration and concern. "I see. DIY psychology." It irritated her how people thought they could bypass years of professional training with a self-help book. Six years of studying, clinical hours, and experience, reduced to a twenty-dollar paperback that promised easy solutions for complex issues. Maybe she hadn't been clear enough yesterday when she advised Audrey to step back. She needed to be direct, to warn her of the potential dangers—for both that guy and herself.

Audrey felt a chill run down her spine as Dr. Stevenson's words hung in the air. "Have you ever noticed that it could possibly trigger something that's even worse?"

"Like what?" Audrey asked, her voice barely steady.

"Like suicidal thoughts?" Dr. Stevenson didn't sugarcoat it. "I don't know how severe his past experiences are, but sometimes, people who have buried those memories for years can be overwhelmed when they resurface all at once."

Audrey thought back to her conversations with Jack. He hadn't seemed suicidal, not exactly. But then she remembered the story he had shared with her a month ago in Washington—the day he'd been reinstated by CTU to help track down the nukes. He'd volunteered to fly the plane out into the desert, fully aware it could be a one-way trip. Maybe, she thought, he was suicidal in a way she hadn't yet understood. She couldn't be sure. But still she said: „No, he's not suicidal."

"I trust your professional judgment on that," Dr. Stevenson continued, her voice calm but firm. "What about substance abuse?"

"What about it?" Audrey felt her pulse quicken, sensing the direction this conversation was taking. She felt cornered, as if Cassandra was inching closer and closer to the truth, the name of the one they were actually talking about.

"Statistics show that a significant number of veterans struggle with substance abuse," Dr. Stevenson said. "Especially those with PTSD. Addiction becomes a way to cope with the memories."

Audrey hesitated. "I guess he did, too," she said, trying to downplay it. Anything she said would be an understatement compared to the self-destructive path Jack had been on before finally checking into rehab.
"I guess he just needed someone to talk to," Audrey added defensively, as if she needed to justify her actions. This wasn't some DIY therapy project. She was just being a friend. There was nothing wrong with that.

Dr. Stevenson studied her face, noticing the hint of color rising in Audrey's cheeks. "Are there any others he talks to?" she asked gently.

"I don't think so," Audrey admitted.

"Okay. And is his substance abuse getting better or worse?"

"Better."

"Good. That's good," Dr. Stevenson murmured, taking a slow sip of her coffee. Then she looked at Audrey carefully. "Are you his substitute drug?"

Audrey's eyes widened in shock. The question felt like a slap. "What?"

Dr. Stevenson knew she was treading dangerous ground but pressed on. "Audrey, you need to be aware of addiction replacement." Her tone softened, turning sympathetic. "When someone struggles with addiction, they often latch onto something—or someone—else as a lifeline. Talking to you might feel like that lifeline. But you need to consider what will happen if you can't be there for him anymore. It could be like any other withdrawal."

A knot tightened in Audrey's stomach. Jack, addicted to her? The thought seemed ridiculous, but the nervous flutter in her chest told her there was some truth in it. Wasn't she, in some way, addicted to him too? The way she kept checking her phone, the way her heart leaped at the sight of his messages—she couldn't deny it.

"Whatever you do, Audrey, you need to maintain a professional distance. That's my last piece of advice." Dr. Stevenson's voice was firm but kind. "It's the key to any therapeutic relationship. Don't get too close. Don't give him the illusion that he's a friend. He's someone who's carrying a heavy load, and you don't want to take that on."

Audrey could tell Cassandra was genuinely concerned. She was trying to help. But Jack was already much more than just a friend, even if she couldn't fully articulate what he meant to her. She wondered if, in opening up to him, she'd already taken on a part of that burden, already intertwined herself with his pain. She didn't know what to say.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said finally, thanking Cassandra for her advice and preparing to leave. But as she turned, Dr. Stevenson's hand gently stopped her.

"One last thing, Audrey."

Audrey paused, sensing the weight behind her words.

"Does he know where you live?"

"No. Why?"

Dr. Stevenson hesitated. "Well... you won't be there for him forever, right? And if he develops a dependency, he might come looking for you."

"You mean he's going to stalk me and hunt me down?" Audrey asked, shocked at the implication.

"You have no idea how many patients turn against their therapists because they're the ones bringing up all the pain, all the roots of their issues. I'm not saying he will, but it's a possibility."

"Okay. Thank you." Audrey forced the words out, though they felt hollow. Jack would never do that. She couldn't imagine him hurting her, even if she ended things. He would understand—her gut told her that. She knew, instinctively, that if she ever needed him, he would be there for her, no questions asked. It didn't feel like he'd ever turn against her.

Still, Dr. Stevenson's words echoed in her mind throughout the day, lingering even as she saw Jack's simple 'Hi' pop up in her messages. 'Tired?' The familiar rush of adrenaline and warmth spread through her, a smile tugging at her lips with every text they exchanged, some even during her meetings.

Maybe Jack was getting 'addicted' to her, but she was definitely getting 'addicted' to him. Some might call it falling in love. Dr. Stevenson would probably call it a rush—a biochemical reaction in the brain. Audrey tried to remind herself to keep it in perspective. This was just a reaction to late-night conversations, to feeling cared for, to human connection. Nothing more. Just a rush.

But when she pulled out her phone during an afternoon break, stealing a moment alone to write back, she couldn't help but chase that high. It felt good. It felt real. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

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